


Rockabye

by RollanWasHere



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Bartender! Hunk, Bisexual Lance, Bodyguard! Shiro, Coran is the manager, Gay Keith, I have an instagram full of drawings of this and now I have a story what is my life coming to, I might add more tags as I go, Lance and the rest are all twenty five, M/M, Pidge is eighteen, Stripper! Allura, Stripper! Keith, Stripper! Lance, Stripper! Shiro, bartender! Keith, except Shiro he's twenty seven, it gets gay, lance has a son, stripclubau
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:05:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10574751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RollanWasHere/pseuds/RollanWasHere
Summary: Lance is a, recently broken-up and now single, proud father of his son Max. They used to live in luxury when Lance’s ex-girlfriend Julia was paying the bills. Now, since she’s gone and out of his life for probably forever, he doesn’t have enough money to pay for the house they were living in. They move into a small apartment. As Lance is working his night shift the day after moving, he gets a job offer from the manager of a strip club. He hesitates, but take the job because he needs the cash. It turns out to be more enjoyable than he first thought, especially considering that a foxy raven that happens to work there has captured his interest.





	1. He Offered Me a Job, Pidge. A Job. Who Does That?!

**Author's Note:**

> I actually do have an Instagram for this AU and decided to actually write a story for it because why not. I wrote the first chapter by myself, planning to write the whole thing by myself and post it when I was done but, unfortunately, I can't survive without feedback. So, here you go.
> 
> (go check out my Instagram, @/lances_legs!!!! I'm a terrible artist but I actually like half the work on here:D)

Lance groaned, grabbing up the tiny clothes in his hands and dumping them into the laundry basket as his kid called for his attention again. There really was no way to make this better. There was a toddler running around their new house, screaming for Lance’s attention every so often when he found something interesting. It was just a small apartment. You wouldn’t think that it would happen so much. It had been happening _all day_. 

Lance had gotten basically nothing done, since every five minutes Max would run around and call for him to come look at whatever it was that had gotten the child’s interest. Lance left the laundry basket in Max’s room and went to see whatever it was that had made his kid excited. 

Max was the product of Lance’s stupid decision. A stupid decision with a hot body and sassy attitude that went by the name of Julia. Julia was Max’s mother if that wasn’t obvious. She was five foot four of pure and unadulterated sex. She practically oozed it. In another life, Lance would bet she would be a succubus, no doubt about it.

One trashed night and a busted condom later, Lance had little baby Max on his hands. Now Max was five years old and just getting the hang of kindergarten. Don’t misunderstand, it’s not like Lance doesn’t love his kid. He does. He would probably die for Max. He just hadn’t planned for him. Now he was behind on bills (and sleep) and really wishing that he was allergic to alcohol.

He walked into the room and smiled. Max was sitting on the ground, playing with one of those weird spring doorstops. Lance went and sat behind him, trapping his son between his legs. Max was practically the spitting image of Lance. He was a tan, blue-eyed baby with a cute little nose. The only thing that resembled his mother was his hair color. Lance was secretly grateful for that.

“What’s this, little buddy?” Lance asked, poking Max in the sides. Max squealed, startled out of his fascination with the springy doorstop. The child turned and smiled up at him, smile brighter than the sun. 

“Papa!” Max said, waving his hands about wildly. “Look at this thingy! It does a thing and it makes this weird noise like vummmm vummm!” Lance smiled at his kid’s explanation. Max had a fondness for using onomatopoeia when describing something and Lance found it adorable. 

He sat and messed around with Max for a while, deciding to ignore the laundry for a little while longer. He pretended to be a dinosaur and chased Max around, making over-exaggerated growling noises. He pretended he was the villain of a story and let Max ‘slay’ him. He had a contest with him too, he let Max win, where they made silly faces to try and make the other one laugh first. Finally, they got to playing space pirates. It was Max’s favorite. It was dumb, but it was going to be a fond memory for Lance.

Lance glanced at the clock and gasped. For one thing, it was way past Max’s bedtime. He still had school the next day. For another thing, Lance was going to be late for his shift at the grocery store. It was seven fifty. His shift started at eight and it was a fifteen-minute drive there.

He picked up Max, ignoring the squeal of protest, and walked quickly to Max’s room. He placed his child on the bed, moving to the tiny dresser. 

“Papa?” Max asked, looking positively confused. If he’d had more time, Lance would have squealed at how cute that was. “What’s the matter?”

“Papa has to go to work,” Lance said, pulling out a fluffy pair of pajamas for Max. It was going to be cold that night, being in the middle of December and all. “But papa is going to be late. That’s not good.”

Max scampered up to him and pulled on Lance’s pants. He looked down at his kid, melting at the determined yet innocent look on his face. 

“I can do it!” Max said, making grabby motions with his hands towards the clothes. “You can go! I don’t want papa to get in trouble.”

Lance paced in place, actually considering it. He bit his lip, looking down at Max again. Then he sighed, placing the clothes in his tiny hands. He was going to call Nyma. He was going to deal with that girl being there if it was the last thing he did. 

Nyma, for the most part, was a good babysitter. She was good with kids and knew how to handle difficult situations. She was only a bit of a klepto. Lance couldn’t really afford anyone else, though. Good thing Lance didn’t really have any precious items. Besides Max, but he seriously doubted that she would steal his kid. Wasn’t that illegal or something? 

“Nyma will be here soon if you find that you can’t do it,” he said, quickly.

Lance kissed Max on the head, bidding him goodbye. Then he threw on a jacket and fished his phone out of his back pocket. There weren’t many numbers on his contact list, Nyma was one of the only numbers on his phone that weren’t immediate family. The only other two were Lance’s boss from the grocery store, he only had that in order to tell the management if he couldn’t come in that day for some reason, and his coworker and friend, Pidge.

Apparently, running down a hallway and trying to find the right contact was extremely difficult. Lance ran into both a wall and a pair of guys just trying to get to their room. One was tall, a prosthetic for a right arm. The other was shorter, shorter than Lance at least, and a raven. Lance glanced at them, embarrassment heating up his face.

“Sorry!” he squeaked, already moving past them. The tall one was intimidating.

“People fucking suck, Shiro,” he heard one of them say. “I fucking hate everyone.” 

Well damn. Lance knew he caused them a slight inconvenience but he hadn’t realized that it was such a problem. Soon enough he was out of hearing range. (Thank god--the shorter one was a giant ball of negativity. Lance already had enough of that in his life, thank you very much.)

Nyma picked up on the second ring, voice just as light and pretty as always. Lance would totally tap that if she wasn’t such a _bitch_ for money.

“Hello?”

“Hello? Nyma? It’s Lance. I need you to get here ASAP. I’m about to be late for work and I forgot to call you earlier because I was busy and I know this is like, the fifth time I’ve done this but I swear to god I’ll pay you when I get back,” Lance said, rushing out the door. He felt like crying, he was so stressed. So, so stressed.

“Chillax, Lance. I know your deal. You’re good with money, even if you _are_ late on payment sometimes. I got you covered. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Are you already gone?”

“Yeah,” Lance said, practically running to the parking spot where his car was. “I’m getting in the car now. Thank you so much for this.”

“You got it!” And the line was dead. He dug around in his pockets, hoping to whatever god was out there that he had remembered to put the keys back in his pockets last time he went driving. He eventually found them in his left-hand pocket and let out an embarrassingly loud “whoop!” In his moment of excitement. He opened the car door, flinching at the loud creaking noise it made, and climbed inside, shutting the door after himself.

Lance threw his phone into the passenger seat of his old, beat-up Honda Civic. It had been a gift from his mom, that was the only reason he had it. Otherwise, he’d be walking everywhere. It was gray and scratched and had a dent in it somewhere that Lance couldn’t be bothered to remember, but it was his. It was his, it _worked_ and that was good enough. 

In the end, despite pretty much breaking the speed limit the entire way, he wasn’t late. He ran in and punched his card, slumping in relief when he looked at the clock and realized he still had a minute or so to spare. He suppressed a laugh at his luck.

He grabbed the black apron that employees were supposed to wear and smiled as his friend Pidge walked up to him. He tied it around his waist, deciding not to mention how tired Pidge looked. He’d done it only once before, something he deeply regrets. (“Yeah? Go look in the mirror. You have the deepest, darkest bags under your eyes. You look like you’re dying. So why don’t you shut your mouth and worry about yourself for once, dumbass.”)

“Troubles with the kid?” She asked, leaning against the wall next to him. 

“No,” Lance said, smiling. “I just lost track of time. We were playing space pirates.”

“Again?”

“Yeah,” Lance said, smiling wider. Then he yawned and _when was the last time he’d slept?_ He remembered napping for an hour or so during the day with Max. He hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before because Max had a nightmare. He’d just drank a cup of coffee and it had gotten him this far. Man, he really needed an espresso. 

“You didn’t sleep again, did you?” Pidge asked, looking unimpressed. 

“Max had a nightmare. Besides, you’re one to talk. You look like you crawled out of a dumpster,” he said, sniffing indignantly. 

“You are a delight to me, McClain,” she responded dryly, sarcasm evident in her voice.

“Excuse me,” a voice said. Lance turned to the new voice and smiled brightly. It was a customer. Always be in tip-top condition for a customer. It was an older man with surprisingly bright orange hair and a matching mustache.

Lance glanced at Pidge and felt slight relief flow through him when she gave him the go ahead. He smiled at the customer again then excused himself, making his way to the cash register, where he was probably going to stand for the next five hours. He really didn’t feel like dealing with anyone at that point in time.

Lance watched as Pidge let the customer through the different aisles, never coming out each time with nothing in their hands. He could see Pidge’s mouth moving, so he knew they were talking. About what, though? How did they know each other? Weird. 

He turned his attention to a woman approaching his stand, a hyperactive child pulling and yanking on her. She looked tired. She looked like Lance. As she started to pile the little amount of groceries onto the conveyor belt, his thoughts drifted to Max. 

How was he?

_Beep_

Was he sleeping like he should be?

_Beep_

Was Nyma having any trouble with him?

_Beep_

Did he have any time to call and make sure he was okay?

_Beep_

You just got to work, Lance. It’s okay. You can check on him on your break.

_Beep_

Which is an hour and a half away. . .

“Your total will be twenty dollars and fifty cents,” Lance said to the woman, who was already pulling out her card. The kid was now poking around Lance’s space, peeking over the little wall that basically loomed over him in order to just get a glimpse of what technology Lance was using. “Have a nice day.”

After paying, the woman gathered up the child in her arms along with her groceries and walked out of the store. Lance’s eyes did not follow her this time. He had another customer to attend to. It was the man Pidge was talking to. He was buying blue body paint and sparkly blue glitter, which was weird in and of itself. Was he an art teacher or something? 

Lance scanned the items, ignoring the way the man scrutinized him. It was like the man was _checking_ for something. Lance placed the two items into a plastic bag, still ignoring the burning gaze. 

“Your total is fifteen dollars and twenty-two cents.”

“Would you like another job, my boy?” The man asked. Lance’s head snapped up, eyes wide and shocked. “My name is Coran. I work in an entertainment industry in the next town over along with my niece Allura and some others. We would be pleased to have you.”

Lance’s mouth opened and closed over and over. Others would compare him to a fish. He looked silly, he knew it, but who just walks up to a complete stranger and _offers them a job?!_

Coran chuckled and set down both a twenty and a black business card. He told Lance to keep the change then walked out, Lance’s eyes following him all the way.

That break could _not_ come fast enough.

\-----  
“He offered me a job, Pidge. A _job_! Who _does_ that?!” Lance screamed, pacing around outside of the store. It was dark and he couldn’t really see where he was going but whatever. He was pretty sure he almost bumped into something at least twice. Pidge was sitting on a bench, looking just as bored as ever with only a tiny bit of amusement on her face. 

“What’s the job even for?” She asked, with that ‘I know something you don’t’ look. You know the one. Lance didn’t even see it, too busy panicking to even look at her. 

“I don’t know!” Lance said.

“You don’t know?”

“I didn’t look!”

“Then look _now_.”

“Okay!” Lance said, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. He dropped it twice before actually even getting it open, then he dropped the card.

“Lance!” Pidge snapped, annoyance making its home on her face. 

“Sorry, sorry!” He squeaked, bending over to pick up the card. “mierda, it’s too dark!”

“Then go _into the light!_ ” Pidge snapped again, looking about one hundred percent done with him. Lance jumped. He hadn’t expected her to snap, though he should have. He scrambled not to drop the card (again) and rushed to the windows where the light from the store poured through. 

“Right, right,” he said. In the light, it was much easier to see the rainbow colored cursive writing on the black business card. It read _Altea_ and Lance literally wanted to both laugh and cry at the same time.

“Dios mío,” he said, wetness building in his eyes and a smile tugging at his lips. “Did I just get an offer to become a stripper?” 

“What’s the deal?” Pidge asked, an eyebrow raised in question. 

“Altea is a strip club in the next town over,” Lance said, a laugh bubbling out of his throat. “Joder mi vida, hombre.”

“Why do you know that? Do I want to know why you know that?” She asked, a smile tugging at her own lips. Lance shook his head, chuckle falling from him.

“I had to stop and ask for directions on how to get here and in my moment of panic I just said ‘screw it’ and went to ask for directions,” Lance said. “They were closed but the bartender was there. Nice guy.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Pidge joked. “Why not go for it? Not like you’ve got anything better to do.”

“What about Max?” Lance said, plopping down on the bench next to Pidge and holding his head in his hands. “I can’t just leave him at home by himself. Not to mention this job. I can’t work both this one and that one. Besides, I don’t have any experience and they’re not going to pay me to give _me_ lessons.”

“Didn’t you say you took pole dancing classes?” Pidge asked, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

“Once, Pidge, once! And it was for my sister’s twenty-first birthday.” 

“A little is better than none,” she offered, leaning back against the bench. “Besides, I know Coran. He’s a good guy. He’d be willing to give you lessons while Max is at school.”

“I always end up sleeping through those six hours.”

“Then quit this job,” she said, sounding like it wasn’t a big deal. “Altea pays better anyway.”

“How do you know that?” He asked, slightly suspicious. 

“I know everything.”

“Sure, Pidge. Sure.”

\-----  
Maybe it was because a certain weight was still carrying on his mind, but it seemed like the rest of his shift was much longer than it usually was. The drive home seemed longer too. His legs felt like lead as he climbed the stairs to his apartment.

He put his key in the door and twisted, blinking down at it when it didn’t click open. He pulled it out and tried again. After doing that three more times, he realized the key was upside down. 

He pushed the door open quietly, kicking his shoes off and closing the door behind him. He immediately went to Max’s room to check on him. There was a yellow sticky note on the door, it took a few minutes for Lance to process the words, words scribbled in Nyma’s messy handwriting. 

_The kid is asleep. He didn’t cause any trouble, as per usual._  
You can pay back the money you owe me for this time next  
Tuesday. Have a good night, Lance~

_-Nyma_

Lance sighed, already used to that kind of talk with her. He would have the money by Tuesday, probably. He ripped off the sticky note with a sigh, crumpling it in his hands before shoving it into his pocket with his keys. 

He pushed open Max’s door, willing it not to creak. It didn’t, thank god. Max was indeed in his bed, curled up in the blankets and snuggling a small teddy bear. Lance cooed at how cute his kid was. He took a couple steps back, pushing one hand against the door and pulling it closed with the other so it wouldn’t make too much noise. 

Then he shuffled over to his room, flopped down on his bed, and promptly passed out.


	2. Lance And His Conflicting Feelings, But This Time It’s About A Strip Club.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance waked up with something similar to a hangover and goes through his normal routine, then psyches himself up to go into a strip club.
> 
> Good luck, Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only new Spanish you need to know is "Señor, dame fuerzas" which literally means "lord, give me strength".
> 
> As I said before, I don't speak Spanish. Feel free to correct me in the comments if it's wrong!

Lance was awoken from his blissful slumber by the sound of a shrill alarm in his ears. He jolted up, a scream building in his throat. He slammed his head back into his pillow and screamed. It had only been five minutes, he would bet his lunch on it, since he got home from work. 

He picked up his phone, resisting the urge to throw it across the room. It read six thirty but Lance was one hundred percent sure it was bullshit. There was no way. No way at all. Regardless of his suspicion that the clock on his phone was bullshit, he got out of bed. 

He checked the clock on the microwave just to make sure. No, it was six thirty. Just as his phone had said. It was just going to be one of those days. Lance hated those days. Everyone hated those days. Especially since he knew it was only going to be him suffering through it. 

He shuffled to the kitchen, settling for just getting the stuff for cereal out instead of actually making a breakfast like he normally does. He almost dropped the milk. Twice. Man, he’d been really clumsy recently. He yawned, taking a bowl out of one of the boxes Lance still hadn’t unpacked. He put the items on their small table, sighing, and pulled up a chair. 

Next thing to do was to get Max up. Max wasn’t a morning person, and to be fair, neither was Lance. He usually had to shake him, yell at him, poke him or some other annoying thing for the little bugger to even think about getting up. This time, when Lance opened the door, Max was already awake. He was laying on his back, trying to pull on a sock. Lance blinked off his surprise and smiled. His kid had successfully gotten a shirt on but was missing pants, socks, and shoes. 

“Whatcha doin’, kiddo?” he asked, moving over to help. Max laid back, pout on his face as his dad helped him put his sock on. “Trying to be ready before papa?”

“I’m getting too old for this,” the kid said, squeaky voice taking away the sting of his irritation. “Everyone else already does it without help.”

Lance chuckled, sitting Max up and handing him his pants and shoes. He helped max into the little cargo shorts, smiling all the while. It seemed like only yesterday that Max was born and all too soon he was becoming independent. Well, maybe not that independent. Lance was still proud of his son. Once Max’s shoelaces were tied, they went back into the kitchen. 

As Max ate his cereal, Lance went to get dressed. He threw on an old baseball t-shirt and some jeans. He didn’t have much to do today. (Besides that fucking laundry he forgot to do yesterday. God fucking damn it, Lance.) Then he went to the bathroom to rub in his lotion and other things into his skin. As he was rubbing the substance on his fingers into his face, he thought about the events that happened before he passed out in bed. 

He got a job offer from a strip club. 

Damn. 

He glanced at the clock, he still had ten minutes before Max got on the bus. He decided to call Pidge for advice. It’s not like he could call anyone else. Except maybe his mom but he was sure she would kneel over if she found out he was considering working as a stripper so that was out of the question. 

Pidge picked up after a couple rings, sounding like she’d just woken up.

“The fuck do you want, Lance?” She said, sounding far away. There was a sharp noise and she cursed again. Lance frowned.

“Max can hear you, Pidge. Stop with your potty mouth,” He said, angling his head to get better access to his neck. He stuck out his tongue in concentration. He didn’t want to deal with getting this stuff in his hair. He’d done it before and had to get it cut out. It was not a good time. “I need some advice.”

“So you came to me?” She asked, using a deadpan voice. “Really?”

“Well it’s not like I can talk to Mamá about the, erm, new job. So help me out here,” he said, scowling a bit. 

“What about it? Didn’t we talk about this last night?”

“Well yeah, but I’ve come across a new problem.”

“What? You think it might make you sweat too much or something like the princess you are?” 

“That is literally the least of my worries.”

“Then _what_?”

“The influence.”

“The what.”

“The influence! I don’t want to be a bad influence on Max or his friends or anyone else! What will the kids say when they find out his dad is...works in entertainment?”

He heard Pidge sigh over the phone, followed by the crinkling of sheets, a thump, a groan and Pidge cursing again before apologizing. 

“Just ran into the side of my bed. My side hurts. A lot. Anyways, I don’t think it’ll matter. Besides, it’s not their business. You’re strong enough to take care of it if you need to, but you shouldn’t have to. I think Max will love you no matter what, Lance. I really don’t think it’ll matter if you work the pole in your free time.”

“Pidge, Dios mi, you are so vulgar.”

“Screw you, man. I’m trying to help.”

“And I appreciate that but--mierda, I need to go. See you later, Pidge.”

“Oh, and, Lance?”

“What?”

“Go to Altea tomorrow, Coran said that, if you wanted to, he’d be glad to give your first lesson then. You have free time anyway so why not?”

“Got it. See you, pigeon.”

He hit the end call button, snapping the lid to the weird substance closed. It was a product his sister used that made your skin clearer and nicer but he wasn’t really sure if it was a lotion or not. 

He rushed out of the bathroom, calling for Max to grab his bag. He picked Max up once the tiny galaxy backpack was on his back and ran out the door, practically sprinting down the hall. He hopped down the stairs two at a time, then ran down the block to catch the bus. The bus driver looked annoyed but said it wasn’t a problem. Lance kissed his son on the forehead, smiling when Max called out a “bye, papa!” before getting on the bus. 

Once the bus was out of sight, he sighed. He put his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and began the small stroll back to his apartment. He really didn’t know what he was going to do. He didn’t know if he even wanted to go to Altea and see Coran. He didn’t know anything. . . 

“Señor, dame Fuerza,” Lance muttered, wishing he could talk to his mom about the situation. 

On the way back, he considered the pros and cons of the job offer. It was something his mother had told him to do as a coping skill for when he needed to make a difficult decision and it was overwhelming him. Altea had a lot of good points but it also had a lot of bad points. 

It was clean, it was well protected, the people were nice, it paid better than the grocery store job. That was really all Lance knew about it. 

It was a strip club, so that might cause problems both for him and Max in the future. It was a strip club. He would be half-naked all the time. People would be touching him and getting really close to his private places. He obviously wasn’t a virgin and he wasn’t really scared of human touch, so he crossed off that last one. 

He zoned out and almost ran into his door. At the very least, he knew what he was going to do now. He stepped into his house, toeing off his shoes and glancing around the open space. He sighed, turning towards Max’s room where he’d left the laundry basket. What better way to decide if someplace is clean other than to go to that place?

 _I’ll go tonight_ , he decided, picking up the laundry basket. _I don’t have a shift at the store tonight, so it’s a perfect time. Should I call Nyma or Pidge? Does Pidge have a shift tonight?_

After grabbed the basket with Max’s clothes in it, he went back to the bathroom. He had left his phone there. He sent Pidge a quick text asking if she could babysit Max for him tonight. She responded with a very _enthusiastic_ string of curse words and then ‘alright’ not a minute later. He snorted and pulled open the door to his apartment. There was a laundry room on the first floor that was open for the tenants to use. He carried it downstairs, praying that he wouldn’t trip, and let out a relieved sigh when he didn’t. He backed into the laundry room, humming a tune from some pop song. He smiled a bit to himself, grateful that the laundry room was empty, and started dancing along to the song a bit. 

Despite his limited knowledge of pole dancing, Lance was a great dancer. He could roll his hips perfectly, and his movements were smooth. He took dancing classes as a kid, and could probably out hip-roll any opponent. Maybe that would come in handy, somehow. He chuckled to himself, then continued humming the tune. He opened the door to the washing machine and started to load the clothes in, shimmying his hips and dropping them occasionally. He started quietly singing the words, hip checking the washing machine closed once all the clothes were loaded in. He twirled around the washing room, smiling. He had thirty minutes until the ding of the machine went off, signaling the end of the cycle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door to the laundry room open, then immediately close again. Oh, okay.

Soon enough, the cycle was done and Lance threw max’s clothes into the dryer. Thirty minutes later, he was carrying the newly-washed clothes back up the stairs. He opened and carried the clothes through the door of his apartment, almost tripping on the carpet. He kicked the door closed behind him, huffing. He set the basket of clothes down next to the door, resolving to take them to Max’s room and fold them later. He looked at the clock and sighed. He still had another five hours till Max came back from school. 

But what to do until then? He turned around and groaned. Cleaning. He needed to clean, like any other normal human being. He sighed and moved to brush the dust off the counter with his hand. Needless to say, he regretted that almost immediately. It seemed like the previous tenant had not cleaned at all. When Lance came to actually look at the apartment, there had been trash everywhere and a couple dead rats are strewn about the room. He’d spent the next couple days working to clean it up a bit before they moved in. He hadn’t even touched the office. It smelled like someone died in there. 

Time to get to work.

\-----  
Three o’clock came around faster than what Lance was prepared for, in all honesty. When the sound of Max’s tiny fist came rapping on the door, Lance was deep in the filth of the office and didn’t hear him. It was twenty minutes after that when a deeper knock came. Lance looked up and frowned. No one he knew would be coming to see him. He passed through the kitchen on the way to the door and made a screeching noise. It was three twenty. Max had been standing outside the door for twenty minutes. He rushed the rest of the way to the door and swung the door open, apologies already spilling out of his mouth. 

“Max, baby, I’m so sorry! Are you okay--

He cut himself off when he saw the one holding his son. It was the vicious ravenette from earlier. He did not look pleased. At all. In fact, he looked kind of pissed. He pushed Max into Lance’s arms and snarled. 

“Keep track of your kid,” he hissed, hands clenched into fists. Lance flinched and frowned.

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding Max close. “I was in the office and didn’t hear him knock.” 

“Then maybe you should clean your fucking ears out,” the guy growled out. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot, snarling. “He was out here bawling his eyes out for twenty minutes. Gave me a fucking headache.” Lance’s frown deepened. Okay, this guy was an asshole. He hugged Max closer to his body protectively.

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t curse in front of my kid,” he said, calmly. Then he promptly took a step back, smiled sweetly, and slammed the door in the assholes face. He ignored the loud, pissed off screech and the loud bang of the door. The asshole probably punched his door, like a fucking moron. He took Max into the living room and set him down on the couch, brushing his hair from his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Lance said, fingers brushing over his son's cheeks, wiping away the remnants of his tears. He offered the boy a small smile. Max sniffled and rubbed his eyes, legs crossed Indian style. After a few more moments the little boy looked up and grinned at Lance, 

“It’s okay, papa!” Max said, taking Lance’s face in his hands and giggling. “I wasn’t scared! I’m a big boy, and big boys don’t get scared!” Lance laughed and ruffled Max’s hair. He knew Max was lying. Not even considering the fat tears he could see stained on Max’s shirt, he also knew Max got a little nervous when he ignored him or left him completely by himself for too long. He knew Max thought he might up and disappear, just like his mom did. He kissed Max’s forehead. 

“I know, kiddo,” Lance said, grinning. “Do you want to play a game with papa?” He loved the way Max practically lit up. His son nodded eagerly and got up, giggling again. 

“Let’s play space rangers!”

\-----  
Eleven o’clock came sooner than Lance would have liked. His nerves were racking up his insides. He’d already said goodnight to Max and thanked Pidge at least a hundred times. He’d prepared himself for pretty much anything they could throw at him. Beautiful people, large crowds, lots of noise, getting drunk off his ass possibly. He was prepared for it all. Probably.

Lance parked his car in a parking spot, but couldn’t find it inside himself to get out quite yet. He stared at the building in front of him that seemed to loom over him, an ominous yet welcoming presence. He could hear the booming music coming from the room, dark and enticing. There was a line of people waiting at the door at least a mile wide, all of them waiting to be judged and checked by the body guard. According to the research Lance had done on this place, they called him the black lion. He could see why. The bouncer was terrifying! No wonder he was a lion! 

After a couple more minutes of arguing with himself and turning the car on then off again multiple times, Lance finally got out of his car. He took a deep breath, grateful for the little chill of the night air. It was cold enough to be comforting, but not cold enough to make him shiver. He stood in front of the building for a while, then finally got in line. 

There was no turning back now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah I know this seems like a filler chapter but it has a shit ton of foreshadowing in it :))

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who don't speak Spanish: Don't worry, I don't either. I used multiple translation sites to write this but I wanted to include Lance speaking Spanish because it's part of who he is as a person and it would be wrong to not include it.
> 
> Here's a translation list (feel free to correct me if something is wrong in the comments, I would appreciate it.):
> 
> mierda - shit  
> Dios mío - my god  
> Joder mi vida, hombre - fuck my life, man.


End file.
